But before he could go any further, Hamish took two long strides and pulled Evan into a crushing embrace. His breath whooshed out of him.
“Heard ye were back,” Hamish said. “Wondered when ye’d show yer ugly face!”
Evan froze for half a second before laughing and returning the man’s hug, clapping him hard on the back.
“I thought ye’d be ready to thrash me,” he said when Hamish finally stepped back.
The older man snorted. “I was tempted, believe me. But my old bones aren’t up to giving a thrashing these days.” Hamish cocked his head. “Bloody hell, lad, is the man I see before me really the boy who used to get into so much mischief? Do ye remember the time ye tried to ride that bull bareback?”
Evan groaned. “I was twelve.”
“Ye were a menace. Nearly broke yer neck.”
“And ye dragged me home before my mother found out.”
“Aye,” Hamish said, shaking his head. “Though she knew anyway. She always did.”
“She did. And as I recall,sheprobably gave me a thrashing.” He smiled, feeling a little of his tension ease. “How are Archie and Sally?” he asked, referring to Hamish’s children. When they’d been youngsters, the three of them had been as thick as thieves.
“Archie’s married now,” Hamish replied. “Three bairns of his own. Canna keep them from climbing everything in sight.” He gestured toward one of the boys lingering behind Evan. “That one’s his eldest.”
Evan turned slightly, offering the child a nod. “And Sally?”
“Engaged to a blacksmith’s apprentice in Edinburgh. Lives there now. Visits when she can. Anyway, come inside. Ye look like a man who could do with a drink.”
Evan didn’t argue. Inside, the cottage was just how he remembered—warm and homely, if a little smaller than he recalled. Hamish’s wife, Morag, emerged from the adjoining room, wiping her hands on her apron.
She stopped short when she saw him. “Am I seeing things?” she said, eyes widening. “Evan Campbell?”
He gave a sheepish smile. “Hello, Morag.”
She crossed the room in two brisk steps and cupped his cheek as if he were still a boy. “Ye’ve grown into yer bones at last.” She poured him a cup of warm cider, pressing it into his hands and bidding him sit at the table.
He ran his finger along its smooth surface, feeling something dangerously close to comfort settling around him. Hamish and Morag seated themselves opposite, and for a while they spoke of small things—weather, harvests, marriages. Subjects that didn’t cut too deeply, that skirted the edge of why he’d really come here.
But the weight of what he’d come to say wouldn’t let him relax. He took a deep breath, met each of their gazes in turn.
“I owe ye an apology,” he said at last. “I owe everyone here an apology. I turned my back on ye. I shouldnae have done that.”
Silence stretched between them. Morag placed her hands on the table. “It was a difficult time after yer parents died,” she said gently. “A lot of turmoil. A lot of pain.”
“Aye. But that doesnae excuse what I did. I was to be yer laird. The stewardship of these lands was given into my keeping. I had obligations. Instead I left ye to fend for yerselves.”
Hamish leaned back in his chair, studying him. “Aye, ye did,” he said. “And there are some in this village who were angry at ye. Some still are. But we survived. And we weren’t abandoned, we had someone who looked out for us.”
“Oh?” Evan asked. “Who?”
Hamish and Morag shared a glance. Then Hamish said softly, “Yer brother, Bryce.”
Evan blinked. “Bryce?” he asked incredulously.
Morag nodded. “He made sure we had enough stores to get through the winters, helped us build the well when the old one dried up.”
“And when the dispute with MacAllister over the grazing land came to a head,” Hamish added, “it was Bryce who stood for us. Took it to court. Paid the fees himself.”
Evan scowled. “I’ll bet he did. Trying to seize these lands for himself, no doubt.” The old fury flared up in him.
But Morag shook her head. “It wasnae like that. He asked for nothing in return. Only that we continue as we were.”
